The power Of A Name
by Sunshine-M
Summary: Spoilers for 8x04, please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I was robbed at my home earlier this week, I'm christening my new laptop._

As he tried to get himself ready to face his sister again, Tyrion felt overcome by perhaps one too many emotions.

Some would argue feeling was good, but he had closed the part of himself that truly felt anything for so long….

However, he could not help but replay the last days in his head. He replayed going on the wall, looking for lady Sansa, wanting to mend things between her and Daenerys, he had almost forgotten how to breath, something he was getting accustomed to when around her. She had always been beautiful, something he had not been able to make himself not see when they were married, but the trials she had undergone had granted her inner strength and a powerful charisma. He remembered telling her that he would feel better leaving to take back the Iron Throne if he knew that Sansa and Daenerys would see eye to eye.

It had not been a political savvy move on his part, just a selfish request perhaps. He was bound to one woman, but could not stop thinking about the other. The last time it had happened, he had been bound to Cersei, and enthralled by his way too young wife. He did not want a repeat of what had happened, the pain, the humiliation, the losing her-part. He had seen her talk to the Hound and had felt jealousy, prompting him to drink more than he should have.

However, he had been honest on the wall. He had spoken his mid, tried to make her see, and had failed, as always, for his lady had seen too much and had been undermined too often to let him have the upper hand, to bend to his will and make peace with his queen?

Nevertheless, when she had said his name, it had felt like lightning striking. He had felt like he was all-knowing, all powerful, all everything really. Move along, three-eyed raven Bran, the omnipotent Imp was in the castle.

That night, he had wondered if she had used his first name because she knew it would make him turn around, or if she had done so because this was who he was to her. Tyrion. Not Lord Tyrion. Not the Imp. Not her former husband. Not the lesser of too many evils.

When she had said his name, he had turned around and never had the chance to ask before she delivered that oh so important piece of information.

At night still, he pondered. He probably was reading too much into things, but from what she had told him, only family knew about Jon's true parentage, and he hoped it meant he was part of that inner circle, that when the throne was secure, he could go back and court her the way she deserved to be.

She….. probably would be the death of him. Yet he could not bring himself to care. What a glorious way to go!

Having that knowledge had put him in the crosshair of a state affair, but he did not mind. He had been honest with Varys, showing his torn loyalties between the two Targyaren heirs, honest about having pledged himself to one of them and not the other, but as time went by, he realized that he had perhaps always known what the spy would decide upon hearing his bit of news. He had planted a seed. If something happened and they were to change strategies, it would not be on him.

A few months back, it would have horrified him to even think about the Iron throne being claimed by anyone else, but as things were…. There was a reason the chair was so uncomfortable, and no man would be better at home but Jon Snow, sitting there. He did not want to be king, he was in love. His heart, his purpose in life was love. He had been deprived of it for too long, needed it any form he could get it, had forgiven Sansa for the way she had treated him in the past. It took a great man to not hold to any grudge, especially when you had this ace in your sleeve, no matter how much you disliked it.

As painful as it was, Tyrion had decided to let Varys make the decision that he would deem the best for everyone involved. And he thought of a lovely lady with red hair and green eyes, and the way his name had rolled off her tongue. How he longed for it to happen again. How he wished it could happen in the bedroom, desire in her voice, for him, only him, always him.

It felt like a decade later, but as he watched the queen react to Missandei's death, Tyrion had to thank his lady for the trust she had shown him. He met Varys' eyes, and they exchanged a knowing look.

His hand went to a locket around his neck, containing a few red hairs.

There was only woman who was supposed to be the death of him. No one could deprive her of the privilege.

What it meant for the future, well…

Yet, with the locket in his hand, he felt like the tallest man in the room, and for once, he did not fear his sister, felt ready to take her on. He had business to attend North. Cersei needed to die.

_A/N: I'd love to hear from you guys!_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Because it was requested..._

Truth be told, he was only just coping with the news of Jon's parentage, when he thought he saw something in Sansa's eyes.

"My Lady, you're trusting me with such a secret, you ask me to betray my queen…."

"Your queen?"

She spat on the ground, shocking them both.

"I did not bend the knee and I never will. Should Jon make his claim known, I will pledge my loyalty and that of the North to him, without a second thought. But this…. This… Ugh!"

He kept silent, feeling like this was not one of those moments where he could diffuse tension, or prompt a confession. It was about her, about what he had seen the night before in her eyes when he had laughed with Daenerys, about the way she just could not seem to adjust to the dragon queen.

"This.. queen of yours, should not be queen. I know Jon will hate me for having told his secret, but I don't trust this girl, this… trollop."

His eyes widened and he had to bite his tongue to refrain from saying anything about this turn of phrase.

"I will never pretend to like her. Please never ask me to pretend so again," Sansa finally said, as if having sorted out her thoughts and reached a conclusion.

"My Lady, Daenerys…."

*Already has my brother. She has all but bewitched him into not seeing what us all common Northeners have seen from the moment she made her appearance. She stole my brother from me. She took my husband too. What does she want? For all the men in Westeros to worship at her altar? This is not how a queen behave, no Sir, that just is not."

"Stole your husband?" he repeated, barely believing the words he was not certain he had heard right.

"You were mine first. Except you weren't, because you don't love me and I could not blame you. Even now, there is no blame to expand on anyone. I am spoiled goods. Gods, let's just be honest, I'm ruined goods. There is not an inch of my body or soul that has not been laid bare and naked and whipped. I am unworthy. Yet, you joked about having stayed married, and I never believed you. However last night, while you were laughing with her, it was the last stroke."

She turned to face him and she looked so pained he wanted to comfort her.

"When things were bad, my family had been torn to pieces and we were staying in hostile lands, we only had each other at King's Landing, I was the one you had wit contests with. I was the one you shared inner jokes with. We had something, I don't know how to describe it. I can barely stand the fact that she had to go and take my brother from me, but knowing she won you over too… It's just not fair. It's not fair," she repeated, before looking straight ahead, trying to hide tears from him.

"Sansa," he said, "I don't think I understand…"

"Forget it. She's not even that pretty. The heart of the matter is, there is someone else, someone better suited for this ruling role. Do what you may with this information. I will not be accused of having held back the truth from my husband."

"Sansa," he tried again.

"I am sorry my Lord, I will not call you thus again. I did not mean to cause any discomfort."

Words were failing him, so he all but jumped forward before she could dismiss him, and grabbed her hand.

"Sansa," he repeated. "Listen to me. Listen to your husband. She did not steal me, no one could. I trusted her to be the ruler Westeros needs, but now you've given me much to think about. No one could steal me from you. But I've been robbed over and over again of your presence. I never want that to happen again."

He found he meant those words.

"Then stay." She whispered.

"You know I cannot, no matter how much I wish I could. Come with us. When Daenerys is queen, you'll be by my side, and we'll try to have the wedding we never had the first time around."

"She will not tolerate my presence anywhere near her, especially if she discovers I know that she seduced her nephew," Sansa said, looking so torn and desperate.

"If Jon is the one sitting on the throne, he would let you be there and welcome you too…"

"You're speaking of treason My Lord," Sansa said softly.

When she did not say anything more, he just looked in her eyes and found everything he thought he never could have. There was someone out there who cared for him, not because they had to, not because he paid them good coins or something of the sort. There was someone who was genuine when she said that she wanted to remain his wife. And he found that he genuinely wanted to stay her husband, to protect her from all the tall bastards that would try to harm her.

"Do you have a ritual perhaps, in the North," he finally said, "some sort of lovers' pledge?"

He felt the warmth of her hand in his, and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face in her hair.

"We do, or the peasants do… When a woman will wait for a man, she gives him a lock of her hair, to remember her by. They say that if the man is unfaithful or betray his lover, the lock will bring him pain and suffering, while the person he betrayed awaits death."

"You northeners," he joked, trying to lighten the mood, "always so bloody serious about everything. Love should not be about death."

She reached around her neck, under the furs, and removed a piece of jewelry. It was a locket. She was nervous but took out a knife which she used to cut some of her sumptuous hair. She put it in the jewel, and said:

"Will you accept this token of love from an unworthy woman?"

"As I happen to find her extremely worthy and cannot believe my luck, I will. May the Gods strike me dead if I do you wrong."

She chuckled before handing him the locket, and she bent to kiss his lips before explaining, as she tried to hide a blush:

"What you just said is part of the script the Northeners use when getting married."

"What else do they say?"

She told him, and he repeated the oath. He did not expect her to reciprocate, yet she did. When the last word rung in the air, he felt like a new man, a new husband. He need to deal with this King's Landing business and come back for his wife. He reached for her cheek, and she bent to give him another sweet kiss.

"Some could say we just pulled a Rhaegal and Lyanna by getting married again, just the two of us, wouldn't you say?" He asked.

"Perhaps. I would not have it any other way."

"Neither would I."


	3. Chapter 3

« t's time, » the king said.

"I beg your pardon, sire," Tyrion asked, rubbing his eyes from sleepiness.

"You've turned my council into a place where people can be trusted. I know you have been secretly sort of grooming Brienne to see things the way you would, at times when you both mourn your brother's death. She has come to be able to stand up for you when you're not around, which is never," Bran went on.

"I… I have not so secretly been trying to teach Brienne some of my knowledge, that I acquired from painful experiences. I cannot soothe her pain, but I can give her some information she would not get otherwise."

"I also know you married my sister again, the Northeners' way before you departed Winterfell."

To this, Tyrion kept his mouth shut. With the North now being independent, he did not know how things could work. It kept him awake at night, how to serve his king, but also how to get back to the woman everything fiber of his being told him that he would love like he had never loved before, if they gave each other a chance to follow through on that promise they made each other, almost a year ago.

"I have no business giving my approval on your union, as she his now queen in her own right, but as her brother, I do admit to feeling happy to call you my brother-in-law. You forced me to live in the future when you made me king, and this is not a reproach. I believe my sister needs to move toward the future too, to be able to let go of the ghosts of the past. She deserves happiness."

Tyrion knew that Bran believed everyone deserved second chances and happiness, but him acknowledging that Sansa deserved it not more than others, but at least as much as others made Tyrion want to hug his King.

"Tyrion Lannister, I know name you our ambassador to the Kingdom of the North. Your role will be to make sure that our two kingdoms coordinate and that nothing ever happen that could spark a war between us. I believe you are the only suitable choice for this position, and therefore order you to leave for Winterfell at your earliest convenience, in order to be operative. I will be using warging to talk to you at least once a month, and you'll have raven you can send if you need my intention, and my warging to join you. Just write the name of the body I should inhabit and please make sure the person knows what they're agreeing too. I still have so many regrets about Hodor and the way I used him."

"I know his death plagues you, milord, but I truly believe that you were the one person he was ready to die for. As for my new position, I thank you, my king."

He tried to think about what he wanted to say, what he needed to say, what fashion to say it, when Bran chuckled.

"Do not fret, brother. I know what you mean, and nothing you could say when we interact as brothers could have you beheaded, unless you hurt my sister, of course."

"I was told, by the new master of whispers that a woman named Meera was trying to make her way to King's Landing."

"I have seen her, not in the flesh, but in my raven-dazed state."

"I believe she will be good to you."

"I know she will. I don't need to search the omens to come to that conclusion, but I thank you, brother, for caring about my happiness."

"We all deserve some, don't we?" Tyrion asked.

"We do. You do. My sister too. Please tell her how much she is missed, and that I watch on her whenever I can, something I will refrain from doing from now on if you do go through with acting as husband and wife."

Tyrion felt himself blush but thought it best indeed. No brother ever wanted to see his sister sharing the pleasure of the flesh.

"You will have children. I won't say how many, but if I can ease one worry that could plague you otherwise, your condition is not something you can give them. You'll be surrounded by tall children, like Sansa, and you'll love every minute of it. You love them to bits, and you'll love her like our parents loved each other."

"Children…" Tyrion muttered.

Indeed, he had been thinking about this. He had always hated being the Imp, and dreaded forcing this condition upon any heir he may ever get.

"Go pack your bags, ambassador," Bran said.

Tyrion jumped of his chair and bowed as he presented his king with the Hand's ensign.

"Thank you…. Brother," he said, barely daring to look at his kings, a man of only seventeen namesdays yet wiser than anyone he could ever think of.

Bran nodded and went back to working.

Gotgogotgotgotgot

When he arrived at Winterfell, Tyrion was on pins and needles. He had changed since he had made his promise to the Queen of the North, and surely she had too. Bran had painted a perfect and rosy picture, but what if they had changed too much? He was slower now when it came to making jokes that could offend someone. After what he had seen in King's Landing, after Daenerys had done, and especially after discovering his siblings, he had learnt or internalized that a quick word, as witty as it was, did not need to be said if it meant reminding people of the things that pained the most.

Oh, he was still witty, and careless, and everything you wanted to call him, but his own ordeal had taught him that they all suffered, and that no man became bigger or greater by belittling everyone's sad tales.

The gates were taking forever to open, and when they did, he firmly expected to be greeted by soldiers.

He was, to some extent, but most importantly, Sansa was there, all dressed in green, wearing her crown, and looking at him like she was expecting something, but what?

"Friend or foe?" She asked when he bowed in front of her.

"Husband," he responded, "if I may not be too forward."

"Good. I've been waiting for you, my Lord," she smiled softly, looking relieved.

She then turned to her people and said:

"My Consort had returned. I trust you'll welcome him, if not warmly at least with open hearts, for I would never choose anyone who would not respect our ways to sit by my side on the throne."

They looked wary, and worried, but upon hearing this woman this trusted more than anybody else, most of them seemed to agree on giving him the benefit of the doubt. However, he had no doubt that the first wrong move would mean he'd end up with a thousand daggers in his back.

Sansa offered her arm to him, and he took it happily.

When the soldiers started kneeling in front of him, he had no idea how to react, so he followed Sansa's lead, and nodded his head at them.

"Do you want to get married again?" She finally asked him. "We did pull a Lyanna-one as you said back then.

"How about we give it a year? If in a year we are still convinced that we are made for each other, which I am, by the way, made for you and also persuaded that you are meant to be mine, then we'll have a celebration."

"I do like the idea."

The following year, when they stood in front of all their bannermen, celebrating their one year together, Tyrion and Sansa could not help but exchange secret glances. Custom in the North was to wait for the woman to be with child for four months at least before telling anyone. In a couple of weeks, they would have a joyful announcement for their people.

Tyrion thought back to Bran's words, and silently thanked the King. He was Tyrion, Consort of the North, ambassador to the realm. Most importanly, he was just Tyrion to his belioved wife. He was home, at last.

_A/N : I never thoguht I would write more than just one part, but I guess I did. Please R&R_


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